


The Lullaby in Your Eyes

by shadesofmidnightsun



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Modern AU, No magic powers, everyone is human
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:28:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25403854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofmidnightsun/pseuds/shadesofmidnightsun
Summary: "You know," Mannimarco says and leans forward to reach for butter, "I started a cult once. Worked very well too, until a gang got involved."Yorou takes a sip of coffee. A gang. He's worked a few gang cases during his time with Special Forces, short as is was. And Coldharbour. Coldharbour...The Obligatory ESO AU that was supposed to involve a coffee shop but somehow became a cop show instead.
Relationships: Mannimarco/Vestige, Past Jakarn/Vestige
Kudos: 5





	1. The Highest Bidder Gets the Corpse

**Author's Note:**

> An experiment in translating a video game into written form. And then taking everyone's powers away. And trying to still keep some of that amazing worldbuilding.

**The Highest Bidder Gets the Corpse**

_Oblivion had a name and a face to go with it, and it was very very wet. It reeked of regret and singed hair, and had the frigid temperature of a forsaken place. What it didn't have was time. No days, no nights, no patterns to count. Numbers survived for a while, before they too faded._

_Pain burnt._

_Reality blurred to the point of dreams, until they were pierced by gunshots and a voice. Colours were long gone, but there was a silhouette of another... Then darkness turned bright and sterile, and it grinned as it retreated into the corner, but never, never further than that._

»»-----------» ~ ~ ~ «-----------««

Of all the places to be on a Friday afternoon, the hospital ranks somewhere in the bottom five, right next to an elevator stuck between the floors. A bit lower than the elevator, actually; at least he could climb out of there. But there's nothing he can do about this. Only a few hours ago he shot a man half to death in an arrest gone wrong. Bruises from a rather violent encounter with the floor are forming on his skin. He got lucky. The shot missed. His partner, though, suffered a bullet to her shoulder and a tumble down the stairs.

He pushes a few coins into the vending machine and presses the button. With a whir, coffee begins to flow.

It was a case of extreme bad luck that somebody actually managed to hurt her. If there's one thing he can say about Runs With Wind, it's that she's fast.

The vending machine beeps. He bends down and takes the cup, snatches a lid, and starts walking, trying to close the coffee as he goes.

In hindsight, he should have probably looked where he walks. But hindsight is a bitch, and so he's not looking, and runs straight into someone (and judging by the feeling steps on their foot to boot). The impact knocks him back and sends the cup flying to the floor. Some of the coffee lands on his sleeve.

"Shit. I'm really sorry about—"

"Get lost."

He looks up and finds himself facing a tall man with hair so light it's practically white. A really, really handsome man; those cheekbones are to die for. Unfortunately, the look in the pale blue eyes glaring down at Yorou is really, really murderous and contemptuous.

"Look, I'm—"

A shove to the shoulder makes him sidestep. The man walks past him, favouring his right leg just the slightest. That could have been the reason why he’s in the hospital in the first place. Or Yorou stepped on it really hard. That would serve him right, the prick.

He gets another coffee, finds someone to notify of the spillage, and returns to Wind.

She greets him with her arms crossed and an eyebrow arched as high as she can get it. "Took you long enough. Did you go for a stroll? I swear, you move at the speed of a snail, old man."

"You should respect your seniors. Seriously though, I ran into an asshole and had to get another cup of coffee for you. Can't have you stay without coffee."

"My hero." She reaches out to take the cup. "So, doc said I should be able to go home tomorrow. They want me to spend the night here, just in case, but then I'm out of this place and—are you listening to me?"

"Hmmm? Sure. You can go home tomorrow."

"Uh-huh. Where did your thoughts run off to?"

To Oblivion with her. "Like I said, I ran into an asshole."

She arches one eyebrow. "Aaaand...?"

"He was a very attractive asshole."

"No. Yorou, no."

He crosses his arms. "What? Nothing wrong with noticing."

She sighs. "Well. At least you're never going to see him again."

She is, of course, mistaken.

»»-----------» ~ ~ ~ «-----------««

A little under a month after Wind returns to work, a case takes them west. By this point, Yorou has seen most Tamriel already, but he's never been to the fancier neighbourhoods of Firsthold before. A kinglord's daughter is the victim, stabbed in the back and dumped in the pool with the knife still wedged between her shoulder blades. Her body is the first thing he notices when he arrives at the scene with Wind at his side. Next is the father, Rilis, shifting his weight and tugging at his golden necktie. As far as Yorou knows, that's the second time he's been elected kinglord of Firsthold; although the time of kings and lords has long since passed, the title remains. Even today, sons and daughters would often sit in the same office their fathers held, so perhaps keeping the old hereditary titles wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Then his gaze lands on the third person here, and his train of thought comes to a halt. It's the handsome asshole from the hospital, looking entirely too good in black and wearing an expression of complete impassiveness.

Just his luck. This case needs to be solved quickly and with maximum efficiency, and here he is, thinking of burying his hands into that marvellous white hair and tugging on it until the man moans... As if he is a hormonal teenager. As if he hasn't learnt his lesson with Jakarn. As if this is not an utterly inappropriate train of thought to have at a _murder scene_.

"That's him," he murmurs. "That's the asshole from the hospital."

At his side, Wind sighs. "Well, shit, I spoke too fast. We're doomed."

"I'll let you know I'm still perfectly capable of using my actual head."

"Ew. That reminds me that you have the other head as well, and trust me, I do not want to be thinking about that. I hate you."

"Right back at you," he says, because this is how they show love these days. In truth, he'd crawl across the entire Tamriel for her, but that's a bit much to put into words.

Wind steps past him and leads the way. She's better at this first step anyway.

"Kinglord Rilis?"

He looks up. His eyes are red.

"We're from Tamriel's Investigation Bureau. We're so sorry for your loss."

"Yes... Yes..."

"We'll have to ask you some questions."

"Yes..." Rilis says again.

Wind softens her voice even more. "Shall we step inside? Is there somebody who can prepare some tea?"

"There are plenty of servants in the house." The asshole makes a steps forward.

Yorou raises his eyebrows. "And who might you be?" Other than the main distraction at the moment.

"I'm on his council."

"Your name?"

"Mannimarco," he says and looks Yorou square in the eye as if he's expecting some kind of reaction. Well, tough luck. He must not be as important as he thinks he is. Of course, Yorou wouldn’t mind getting to know the man more intimately, but right now, Mannimarco is a potential murder suspect, so that's off the table. Besides, even Yorou can see why screwing politicians is a bad idea.

Ah well. He has a job to do anyway.

"Why don't we head inside, Mr Rilis, and you can tell us about your daughter."

»»-----------» ~ ~ ~ «-----------««

They spend about an hour on the most comfortable, most expensive couches Yorou's behind has ever been close to. The facts are as follows.

The victim, Aliana, was stabbed to death and dropped in the family pool. She was 25, finishing university, and visiting for the Midyear Celebration. Her death occurred between 5:00 and 5:30 in the morning.

Her father was absent the entire afternoon of the day before, meeting with Mannimarco and three other council members. He returned home around three, went directly to bed, and slept through the night. A maid found the body around 7 a.m. and called the police.

Did Aliana go out last night? Yes, but she was back before midnight, alone. Nobody saw or heard anything at night. Nobody noticed anything unusual. Aliana seemed fine. She was not in a relationship. No, she wasn't the type to fall in with the wrong crowd. Besides, nobody aside from Rilis entered the property at night. The cameras do not seem to have been tempered with, and neither does the security system.

It's nothing special, really. So many cases seem the same: no obvious way, no enemies, no motif. But there is always a way, always a motif. Somebody did it.

They'll find who and why. They usually do.

When they're done with Rilis and all twelve members of staff, the sun's already setting, the couches are no longer as comfortable, and Yorou would kill for a coffee. Instead, he's _still_ sitting on the couch and staring at Mannimarco, who's seated across from him. There's a thin scar on his left cheek that Yorou hasn't noticed before. The corner of his lips is turned upwards, but his eyes are like a barrier of ice between them. Like this, Yorou can see more than attractive features and an attitude problem. There's something calculative about Mannimarco, something dangerous, and perhaps a smidge defensive. Potential guilt?

"Where were you between 4:30 and 6:00 this morning?" Wind says.

"In my hotel room in Overlook Inn. I'm sure you'll find a way to confirm this. I got here this morning. Should have been around 7:30. We had another meeting scheduled at eight and wanted to go over some details."

"We'll confirm with the hotel. So what exactly does your work entail?"

"I'm a part of the council. An advisor, if you will. A diplomat. I spend most of my time in the Imperial city these days."

"Did you know Aliana?"

"Not too well. I've only been working with Rilis for the past year or so." Mannimarco glances around the room, then leans forward a bit. His hair spills over his shoulders. "Everybody told you they thought the world of her, I bet."

"You didn't like her?" Wind asks.

"No, no, she was all right. Naive little thing. Too flirty for her own good."

"Are you insinuating something?"

"I suppose." When Mannimarco speaks again, his voice is hushed. "There was a party this spring. Quite the crowd gathered. Politicians, businessmen, the cream of the crop, so to speak. She was all smiles to them. Caught a few eyes too many, I believe."

"You're saying she slept with somebody?"

Mannimarco leans back again. "A few somebodies, I'd say. I wasn't there to see."

Yorou turns to Runs With Wind and back again. "So we're talking rape here? Do you know who did it?"

"Again, I wasn't there. Next morning, Rilis said she was ill. I saw her late in the evening, and she didn't look so well."

“And you think it’s because she was raped.”

Mannimarco shrugs. “Could be. I’m just telling you what I saw.”

“All right.” Yorou can practically feel Wind's gaze on him as he stands up (he can't feel his butt at all anymore). "Thank you for your help. We'll be in touch. If you think of anything else, let us know." He hands a business card to Mannimarco, who gets up as well. "Also, my apologies. For last time." He lowers his voice, hoping Wind won't hear him, and because he's total trash does what is probably the stupidest thing he can do right now and adds, "I could buy you a drink to make up for it."

"Apology accepted," Mannimarco says, but not anything else.

»»-----------» ~ ~ ~ «-----------««

"What do you think?"

"I don't know." Runs With Wind leans back in her chair and pops a piece of potato into her mouth. After checking a whole list of alibis, they finally sat down to eat diner in a restaurant near their motel. "Not sure I believe a word of what Mannimarco says. The girl could have been hungover. Or he could've raped her, for all we know. You have a terrible taste, let me tell you."

"Yeah, but then why bring it up in the first place? Nobody else mentioned a party. If he were a rapist, he'd be an idiot to speak of it."

And please, Divines, don't let him be a rapist. This would make him worse than the entire collection of people Yorou has slept with so far, and the last one was a thief and a hacker.

"He's a politician, what do I know. But his alibi checks out, so there's that..."

"We'll have to talk to Rilis. So far, this party is the only lead we have."

"That'll be fun." Wind sighs. "Anyway. I'm off to bed. The case will wait. Just promise me you won't bang Mannimarco in the meantime."

"I know not to sleep with potential suspects, thank you very much." It just doesn't stop him from wanting it. Curse Mannimarco, and curse this case to Oblivion.

»»-----------» ~ ~ ~ «-----------««

Things proceed smoothly, until they don't anymore. Runs With Wind very diplomatically tells Rilis his daughter may have had sexual relations with one or more of his guests. They get the footage. They even get a few names. And that's the point where shit hits the fan, because high-profile people can be hard to get to. One in particular, Canonreeve Valano, an associate of High Kinglady Estre, appears to be very elusive. They decide to leave him for last, hoping it won't be necessary to track him down anymore. But of course, it is.

Everybody else is forthcoming with information. Were they at the party? Of course, nobody would miss that. Did they see the victim? Naturally. Talk to her? Well, of course they would greet her, but noting beyond that. Perfectly forthcoming and perfectly useless.

Yorou doubts Valano would be much different, but they couldn’t afford to skip him even if this wasn’t a high profile case.

"This is maddening," Wind says after they come to his office only to find it empty yet another time. And it is. It is. So Yorou does what is maybe, possibly—quite likely—a Monumentally Bad Idea, finds Mannimarco's business contact online, and sends him an email at six in the morning.

Four hours and twelve minutes later, his phone rings.

"Yes," Mannimarco says in lieu of an actual greeting, "I could help you get to Canonreeve Valano. The question is what I would get in return. Or do you think you're entitled to my help?"

"What can we do for you?"

"Your agency can hardly do anything of value for me right now. No, I'll take a favour from you."

"What kind are we talking?"

"The best kind. The kind to be redeemed sometime in the future." There is a pause. "And I believe there was talk of a drink."

Yorou swallows—but no, no, this is not necessarily a sign that he can climb into the guy's bed once the case is closed. Why can't he stop thinking about that? Maybe he needs to get laid... Jakarn would probably be willing, but this sounds like a Bad Idea. Or even a Very Bad Idea. Mixing up sex with feelings from the past would blow up in his face and only make things worse.

"Indeed. Tonight?"

"Meet me at the hotel. Nine o'clock. And by the Eight, don't be late."

»»-----------» ~ ~ ~ «-----------««

He doesn't tell Wind about the arrangement. They go over leads again, and then he leaves to get ready. Hopefully his work suit will be appropriate... Mannimarco doesn't seem to be the kind of person to visit a dump.

He gets there too early and finds Mannimarco sitting at one of the tables in the foyer. His hair is loose, falling on his shoulders, a striking white on his black suit.

"Hello," Yorou says. What's the proper register for this occasion anyway? Better yet, what _is_ this occasion?

Mannimarco stands up. "You're on time. Good." Then he looks around, as if he's searching for someone or something.

"Where are we going?"

"Hush. Ah, there. Come."

Before Yorou can form a question, Mannimarco leads him across the foyer towards the reception counter—and a tall, slender Altmer woman that’s just stepped through the door behind it.

"There you are, Belanaire."

She rolls her eyes. "What do you want? Who's this?"

"He's from Tamriel's Investigation Bureau. Goes by Yorou. Yorou, Belanaire. Mistress of Canonreeve Valano. I'm sure she'll be of great help to you. Well then.” He smirks. “I must get going now. Don't forget you still owe me a drink."

"Ah," is all Yorou manages to say. This doesn't seem to be going the way he expected. Not. At. All.

»»-----------» ~ ~ ~ «-----------««

Two hours later he's knocking on Wind's door. When she opens it, she's rubbing sleep from her eyes. Her hair, short as it is, is a right mess.

"If you woke me up for no reason, I'll feed you to the guar," she says and yawns.

"Of course. No, I spoke to Valano."

"How in Oblivion did you manage that?"

"He was picking up his mistress from her work."

With a frown, Wind steps aside to let him in.

"Let me tell you, that man is such a bore. Remembers Aliana but denies ever having touched her. I don't know... Of course everyone would deny raping her. We don't even know if it happened. Coroner said she wasn't pregnant when she died, and no abortion clinic remembers her. The only thing we have to go by is Mannimarco's insinuation, and even he said he doesn't know. Unless, of course, he raped her. His alibi for the murder stands though..."

Wind sits down on the bed and tucks her left leg under herself. "He helped you get to Valano, didn't he?"

"Yeah."

"Figured..." She lets the word hang in the air for a bit. "Maybe we should try another angle. What if it wasn't about Aliana? What if it was about Rilis? He's a politician, after all."

"His past seems clean, from what our data says." Still, it’s not a bad suggestion.

"No connection with Veiled Heritance either..."

A connection with Altmer purists would certainly make it easier to look for clues.

"Unless he's hiding it really well," he says. In theory, he could ask Jakarn to look into it. In theory. It would be somewhat illegal.

There has to be another way.

"What of his inheritance?” he suggests. “He said it would have gone to his daughter, but who's next in line?"

"We'll find out. Get some sleep, old man. Tomorrow, we go see Rilis."


	2. Intermezzo: Our Songs Ring Out into the Dawn

Dreams come to her rarely. When they do, they torture her mind with images of blood and bodies, of the poor souls held captive and used as tools for others to compete among themselves ...

She wakes up suddenly and all at once. Memories of blood on her hands linger. She tried to keep those poor souls alive while another agent was standing beside her, striking a deal with an enemy-turned-ally. She didn't even know his name, but he squeezed her shoulder and told her he was going to end this once and for all.

Runs With Wind shakes her head. It won't do to linger on those images. The raid brought her a new position and a partner, and that's what she should concentrate on (even if her partner does idiotic things sometimes).

She pushes the blankets aside, stretches her long limbs, and walks into the bathroom. Showers help her think, so she slips out of her pyjamas and steps under the current of hot water. Droplets soak her hair and caress her skin, and she sighs in relief.

Five years ago, she was a paramedic in the Special Forces. One of the youngest and driven to no end because she’d been meant for the army and had chosen to save lives instead, and she’d had to be good at it to justify her decision. So she learnt to be an agent and she learnt to help. Oftentimes, the work was messy. People died in raids all the time, on one side or the other, too fast for her to do anything.

Then came Coldharbour. Years of hard work for the law to finally track down one of the most violent gangs in recent history. They were led by a man who called himself Molag Bal, after one of the daedric princes Ashlenders were still wont to worship. And finally the raid. So many dead. The nightmares after.

In less than a week she made her decision: if she couldn't stop people from dying, she would stop them from killing.

Her performance so far meant that her application for the new position was granted. For a year, she worked with a senior agent who was about to retire. After that, they assigned her a partner and sent her into the field. She hated the endless reports they had to do because they were still new, and she hated being under constant observation because others didn’t trust her not to mess up yet. But her partner was the guy who’d squeezed her shoulder back then, who, some said, must have sold his soul to be lucky enough to both find and take on Molag Bal. She knows better now. He's certainly done some questionable things, Jakarn included. But he also does his job, and works well with her, and he _was_ somewhat pitiful after he’d realised Jakarn didn't care for much more than fucking and chasing some chick called Larisa, of all things.

After four years of working with him she knows one thing, though: Yorou is far softer, far kinder, than he seemed to be. That's why this case needs to be over as soon as possible. She's no idiot; it's easy to see he can't take his eyes off Mannimarco. For his sake, she hopes Mannimarco is innocent of Aliana's murder and, if there was one, rape as well. This means it's time to do business. The sooner the better.

She turns the tap off and steps out of the shower. If Rilis does have a connection to Veiled Herritance, he's very unlikely to admit it. They'd have to search his house. Or … she can let Yorou ask Jakarn. It’s tempting. No matter how much of a prick, the thief is extremely good at what he does. The day would tell her what to do.

She gets ready, responds to a goofy picture of their dog Revus sends her, and meets Yorou in the parking lot. She takes the wheel, and although her eyes have to stay on the road, she notices Yorou staring out of the window, his chin resting on his knuckles. 

"Where'd you go, old man?"

He doesn't turn. "I was thinking."

"Oh, good." She takes a turn towards the Rilis estate. "What about?"

"Well. Things. The footage among them. Have you heard back from the lab yet? Do they know if it was tempered with?"

"Nothing yet." As if she wouldn't tell him if they called.

"If it wasn't, then it had to be someone who was already in the house. And if it was, somebody on the inside must have been involved, right?"

"Yes. What are you getting at?"

"There has to be a connection... Somebody on the inside has motif. If we find that, we'll know who did it. And the way things are... It's likely either to pressure Rilis, to punish him for something, or to get his money."

She nods. "That makes sense."

They settle back into silence that remains unbroken all the way to their destination.

Rilis greets them at the door. Some of the colour has returned to his face, and grief has settled quietly in the dark circles under his eyes. He shows them inside to those same leather couches they sat on last time.

"I take you either have news for me, or more questions."

"More questions than news, I'm afraid," she says. "We interviewed everyone your daughter was seen talking to at the party. Nobody seems to have had motive to kill her. Of course, we're not certain yet."

"And... And ... rape? Who did it?"

"We don't know, sir. She might not have been raped at all. She wasn't with child."

Rilis takes a moment to respond. "Why do you think she was raped?"

"We got a hint."

"Mannimarco said it, didn't he?"

"Indeed. Do you think there's a possibility he could have done it?"

"No. He was with me most of that night." Rilis shakes his head, and Wind glances at Yorou. The change in him is minute, but there: a little more softness in his jaw, a little less tension in his shoulders. Too invested for his own good. Whatever he sees in that man...

"But you trust his claim?"

"I trust his instincts and his council," he says, and perhaps Wind should check Mannimarco's background too. But they'll already have to look into all the personnel in the household, and with every day, their superiors will grow more impatient and tabloids print more nonsense. For now, researching Mannimarco for her own personal interests cannot be made priority.

"That aside ..." Yorou speaks for the first time. "We're looking into different options. Our work will be much easier if you decide to be honest with us. Are you or are not involved with the Veiled Herritance?"

Rilis frowns. Wind leans forward and softens her voice.

"Your potential involvement could explain your daughter's murder, sir. We're not trying to persecute the organization. We're trying to bring a killer to justice. For Aliana's sake, help us catch them."

Rilis sighs. "I'm staying out of that conflict. They tried to scout me, but didn't persist. It seems unlikely they would kill Aliana for it."

"They didn't try to persuade you to join or provide resources? Didn't try to pressure you?"

"No. I believe they counted it a win either way. I may not be with them, but I wasn't willing to oppose them either. It can be rather risky... I realise this doesn't exactly speak for my character, but I'm a politician—not favouring a side usually keeps you in good graces of _both_ sides."

Or neither. He may seem convinced Veiled Herritance had to reason to kil Aliana, but that doesn't mean they really had no reason.

"The second avenue we want to pursue is the question of inheritance. I understand everything you own would have gone to Aliana?"

"That is correct."

"To whom does it go now?"

Rilis shifts his weight. "Truth be told, I don't know. I have no immediate family left." He frowns and bring his finger to his lips. "But if that's to be a motive, then somebody has to be out there. I suppose... No. Unless..."

"Unless?" Yorou prompts.

"There were...rumours. Long ago. That my father was unfaithful to my mother."

"So we may be dealing with your half-siblings?"

"Perhaps. I really don't know. I've never seen Father with another woman. That's why I never brought it up before—you might end up chasing shadows."

Wind nods. "Please be careful, sir. If somebody is after your inheritance, they may want to speed the process along."

To Rilis's credit, he takes this with a stoic nod.

They take their leave after that. Work awaits them: reviewing interviews with the personnel, background checks, anything they can find on Rilis Senior.

"So," she says once they're back on the road, "which one are you thinking of?"

"Hmm?" Yorou turns to her.

"Jakarn or Mannimarco?"

He looks away. "Both."

"You're a fool," she tells him. No matter how fast this case gets closed, it'll be too late. "Jakarn is the last option. And by the Hist, don't go to Mannimarco with case details. His alibi may stand, but that's about the only thing we can say about him..." She sighs. The traffic light turns green, and she steps on the pedal.

"I'm not an idiot."

"Debatable," she says, because he will get hurt, and she doesn't want to see him hurt.

"I don't go around disclosing secrets. I don't even know him." Yorou loosens his tie.

So he's already presented this argument to himself.

"Can't help who you're attracted to." She takes a turn. "Even if you do have terrible taste."

He takes a breath to speak, then seems to have changed his mind. After another moment of silence, he mutters, "Can't even argue with that. But if we don't find anything in the next two days, I'm calling Jakarn. Got an email this morning. Our darling boss is beginning to sound a tad too impatient."

"I heard nothing." What she doesn't know, she doesn't have to report, and if Yorou misses his ex and wants to talk to him, well, that has nothing to do with breaking the law. Nothing at all.

»»-----------» ~ ~ ~ «-----------««

Going over the statement of the personnel takes them the entire afternoon. By the time darkness settles, they find the first background checks in their inboxes—not all of them yet, but for a change, somebody worked hard. This case has to be closed soon.

It's past midnight when she lets herself fall onto her bed. Yorou is still seated at the small desk in the corner, staring at papers and absent-mindedly turning a coffee cup in slow circles.

"Should I go?" he asks.

"Nah. I'll just take a nap. Don't break your brain in the meantime."

She rolls onto her side, away from the light, tough it hardly bothers her—she's rested in worse conditions. Sleep comes easily as it usually does, and this time, it's dreamless.

When she wakes up, the room is so much brighter. The lights are still on, unnecessary with the sunshine pouring through the small window.

Not a nap then. Ah well.

She props herself on her elbow and pulls her legs to herself, using the motion to swing into a seated posture.

Yorou is still at the desk. Or, well, on the desk, using his arms as a pillow and surrounded by an army of empty coffee cups. One of his hands is closed around his phone, which beeps just a moment or two later. Yorou doesn't stir, so she lets him be. A shower sounds much more appealing, and she'd rather look presentable when she wakes him up anyway.


	3. Looking, just Looking for the Edge of the Night

**Looking, just Looking for the Edge of the Night**

_Are you still alive?_

The words seem to fill the screen completely. He stares at them, still too far in the realm of unconsciousness, and tries to blink sleep away.

**_She led me to Valano. Let me repay the favour_.**

_Neck-deep in Veiled Herritance, that one._

**_So you expected him to put me down in protest against the government policy?_ **

_Everyone gets lucky sometimes._

Yorou huffs and rubs the spot where his cheek has been pressed against his arm. Mannimarco is a complete bastard, and Yorou tells him so.

_And you are not?_ is the response he gets.

**_My parents were married, thank you very much_ , he types. _Your concern for my well-being is touching_.**

No reply comes in the next minute. Wind emerges from of the bathroom, looking all fresh and sharp in a crisp new shirt, and he puts the phone away.

"I hope you didn't drool on my desk," she says as she crosses the room to open the curtains.

"Good morning to you as well."

She starts gathering the empty cups from the desk. "Did you find anything useful?"

"I'm not sure. We still didn't get the other half of the data... Everything checks out. No mysterious parentage anywhere. There's only ... Well." He pushes a pile of papers towards her. In the top right corner is s picture of a woman in her early thirties, with dark blonde hair and rather small eyes. Beneath the picture is a name: Astra Silion. "She joined the household four months ago. Parents dead, no immediate family."

Wind pulls the other chair closer and puts her elbows on the desk. "Go on."

"No spouse or official partnership, but someone else lives at the same address. Goes by Sorondil."

"And you think he could be the offspring of Rilis Sr."

"I'd need somebody to dig that out. He has no criminal record, that's pretty much all I know so far. But it would make sense, no? If they're lovers, Astra could help him enter. Or do the deed for him."

"Did you send in the request for files?"

"Of course."

"Then we wait. You need to scrub all that sweat off anyway."

That's not a point he cares to argue about, mostly because Wind is right. So he drags himself to his room and rubs his skin clean. He just about manages to pull on fresh clothes and start towelling his hair when somebody knocks. Not Wind. She'd have called out by now. Besides, her knocks are softer and faster.

Yorou lets the towel hang around his neck. Slowly, ready to dash for the gun if need be, he reaches for the doorknob and yanks the door open.

"Of course you open the door as if I'd come to kill you. With this very dangerous cup of coffee."

Yorou stares for a bit before he remembers to close his mouth.

"I don't know. You probably could."

Mannimarco's lips turn into an easy grin. "Probably. Though I'd hardly have much to do. You look half dead already. Half dead and half manic."

"I had six coffees in the last few hours. I shouldn't be alive." He suspects he looks like death warmed over. It doesn’t help that his hair is wet and loose: it's shaved short at the sides of his head and long in the middle and not meant to be worn loose. "Why are you here? Better yet, how did you even find me?"

"Now why would I tell you that?" Mannimarco pushes the coffee into Yorou's hands and strides past him into the room. "I suppose I could have warned you."

"I can handle myself."

"Not looking to make an arrest then? They're in it, the lot of them. Valano. Estre. You'd be a hero."

"I'm not interested in being a hero." His last heroic arrest was anything but fun. "Are you one of them, too?"

"Nah. Nothing in it for me."

It doesn't look like Mannimarco's about to leave, so Yorou closes the door. He's suddenly very aware of his things: his duffle bag on the floor, his jacket tossed over the back of the chair, the covers on the bed, still unmade from the night before. He wants to right them. Instead he says, "You do seem like the opportunistic type. Choosing your sides based on the benefits?"

Mannimarco shrugs and leans against the desk. "I've been wrong before."

"Rilis said he trusted your instincts. They can't be that bad." Warmth is seeping into his hands from the mug.

"I'd hope not."

"So tell me: who do you think killed Alaina?"

"I've no idea."

Yorou takes a sip of coffee. It's still warm, and bitter. He takes another.

"Fair enough. I should have asked differently. What do you think happened to her? What do you know? You have connections, I've figured out as much, and I need to know. If you killed her somehow, if you're sending us around on a wild goose chase, so help me Divines, I'll find a way to end you." His body is full of sudden anger and frustration, perhaps fuelled by his lack of sleep. Somewhere through all the Feeling, he's aware of its irrationality. He’s dealt with obstruction of justice before, with all kinds of people. Why so much rage this time?

Mannimarco crosses his arms. "Do you really think I'd gain anything by killing that girl?"

"I don't know." The words are clipped and a tad high. "Would you? The rape story, Valano... Was that all just deception?" He's vaguely aware that he's in Mannimarco's personal space, with no recollection of when he got there.

"You checked my alibi, didn't you? I gain _nothing_ by her death!"

"Then why do you keep helping us? Why show up here?!"

"Why do you keep asking for my help?!"

Mannimarco's eyes are narrow and icy blue, and Yorou sucks in a breath. And then he moves, fists his free hand in Mannimarco's shirt, and all right, he may or may not be kissing the man a heartbeat later. Another moment passes, and another, and he's _still_ kissing Mannimarco because Mannimarco is kissing him back, and Yorou is a piece of trash willing throw common sense out of the window. But Mannimarco doesn't seem to mind kissing, so the attraction is may not be entirely one-sided. Right?

He buries his hands in Mannimarco's hair. Soft. He could picture tugging on it in a different context. He _does_ picture it, half hoping, half expecting things will develop that way. After all, the interest seems to be mutual. They'd enjoy themselves, get it out of their systems, and get back to work. And he really would enjoy pulling Mannimarco's hair, exposing his neck until he moaned...

Mannimarco steps back, and Yorou is left with a pang if bitter disappointment. He forces the heat that's spread through him into the back of his awareness.

"You owe me a drink," Mannimarco says. "Let's get drink."

A light flush has settled high on his pale cheeks. His lips are redder than usually, his eyes darker—or is that just Yorou's imagination?

"It's nine in the morning. Where are you going to find a drink?"

"I'm sure I could."

Yorou arched his eyebrows. "Don't be an idiot." Why does he need it now? What's the problem here? "Wait for the evening. I'm sure you'll find a way to make me buy you the most expensive drink in Firsthold."

Mannimarco shakes his head. A smirk appears on his lips and the blush is nearly gone, giving way to his usual facade of nonchalance. "What, you think I have the whole day for you? I'm flying to Cyrodiil in the afternoon."

"You can't do that during an ongoing investigation. You're not free of suspicion yet."

"Oh? Will you arrest me, agent?"

"I should stop you." Yorou presses his lips together.

"But you won't. You owe me. Let this be the favour. You won't say or do anything at all, and I'll be back in three days."

"You'll be going regardless of what I do."

"Yes."

"What for?" What could possibly be so important that it couldn't wait?

"That's for me to know and for you to not ask."

"You're not married, are you?"

Mannimarco arches a single brow. "No, I'm not married."

Silence stretches between them. Finally, Yorou sighs and with it, the tension in the room deflates.

"Fine," he says. "Go. I never heard you say anything about leaving. After that, we're even."

"Don't forget my drink," Mannimarco says and grins, but it's fake, of course it's fake.

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you for the coffee."

Mannimarco's grin turns smaller and loop sided. With a nod, he backs away a step, then turns and walks out of the door.

Yourou sighs and presses his hand against his forehead for a second or two. Then he puts the coffee down, spreads the covers over his bed, and flops onto his back.

That's how Wind finds him later when she comes knocking with a folder under her arm. She starts talking of further background data but stops short when she sees him.

"What are you doing?" she asks instead.

"Counting my regrets."

"All 34 years of them?"

"I don't regret my entire existence."

"I do," she deadpans, and he throws his pillow at her. She throws it back, and he moves to protect his face and then to sit up.

"What have we got?"

Her gaze lingers on the coffee cup on his nightstand before settling on him. "Backgrounds on the rest of Rilis's staff. No one stands out. I asked about data on Sorondil, but I’ve got nothing yet. We should go talk to Astra. Get out of sweatpants."

"Get out of my room," he says back. It lacks any bite whatsoever.

»»-----------» ò «----------- ««

Astra is an unremarkable woman. Quite short for Altmer standards, with more meat on her bones that would be strictly necessary and a wide heart-shaped face.

"We're interviewing everyone who works in the household again," they tell her as she lets them into her apartment.

"You have a lovely home," Wind says. "Do you live with your partner?"

Astra nods. Lying wouldn't make much sense, what with male shoes in the hallway and a collection of shirts drying on the clothing rack. "Sorondil. He's at work right now. Please, sit down." She shows them to the couches.

"Oh. What does he do?"

"Boring things. He's in the IT department of a bank."

"And you've been together for a long time?"

"A few years now. So. How can I help you agents?"

They ask her to walk them through her evening and night again. Her story remains the same. The time she left the manor go to home, that she was called in the morning by another co-worker and informed Aliana is dead and the police are on the way—everything matches to the t. It’s either the truth or learnt by heart. The footage supports her story, true, but who would know exactly at what time they left, down to the minute?

Something comes to mind, and he asks, "Can you tell us what you were wearing that day?"

Astra pauses for a moment. "Wearing?"

He nods. Wind looks his way, and he knows she's caught on.

"Jeans and a shirt. Both black, I think..."

Generic enough. But if she's got blood on her hands, and if they're lucky, the description either won't match the footage or it won't match what others remember her to have worn. Then again, perhaps everything will match. It's still worth a look.

Alternatively, he could go to her bathroom and try to get some of Sorondil's DNA. While he wouldn't be able to use it, it would certainly be helpful to know whether he's the bastard they're looking for. Although if word got to the top and Merric at-Aswala heard about it, Yorou might get in a bit of trouble. But by the Eight, he wants this to be over.

Most of all, he wants the person he ends up arresting to not be Mannimarco. Because if he's letting a murderer escape to Cyrodiil... And if Mannimarco's not escaping, what does he need to go to Cyrodiil for? Diplomat business?

Wind takes over, asking some questions about Astra's parents and co-workers, and then they take their leave ( _without_ stealing DNA evidence).

"We should just bring them both in," he says as he sits in the car and ignites the engine.

"And then we'd have to let them go because we don't have enough evidence yet. We'll go talk to the other employees, see if somebody remembers Astra's clothes, and hope we get Sorondil's background in the meantime. And don't you even think about using any of your criminal contacts or I'll send a hoard of angry nix hounds after you."

"Contacts?" He leaves the parking slot and gets the car on the road. "We're talking plural now?"

"Let me see. Jakarn. Mannimarco. Who else? I bet you know at least one person who could sell you skooma anytime."

"Why? You want some?"

"In your dreams. Now shut up and drive and maybe reconsider your life while you're at it. One day, your shady business will get you killed."

"Did you know," he says, keeping his tone light, "that somebody found a way to grow skooma in Vvardenfell?"

"No, and you shouldn't either. Hist, what criminal hole did you climb out of? I doubt your family had contacts to skooma traders at their farm."

"The army?" he offers. Human-traffickers? Coldharbour, twice? Not that he'd want to spend too much time talking about it. But the whole affair did leave him with some useful connections. In all honesty, he probably wouldn't lose his job over some dubiously obtained DNA samples, not if an imperial chancellor put a good word in for him. Which Tharn would. Probably.

On second thought, it isn't worth the risk.

"Hmm. I didn't know the army helps you connect to a criminal network. Must be your charming disposition that led you to it then."

He does not actually have a skooma contact, although he knows people who know people, so he could get his hands on some. Jakarn crossed his path when he was working for the Special Forces to take down Helene and her band of bank robbers. And now, Mannimarco.

"Must be my job," he says.

"You know what, I have the same job," Wind responds, but it somehow lacks the bite. "Be careful," she adds, and okay, this is a bit of an unfamiliar territory right here.

"I can handle myself."

"And yet Jakarn still broke your heart."

"This isn't Jakarn. Can I get laid in peace?"

"How's that going for you? Can you please stop lying to the both of us?"

"I'm fucking fine," he snaps. Wind's worried, as she often is, but she so rarely shows it. Her barbs he can deal with. Her concern out in the open is unnerving.

"You're an arse is what you are," Wind says in a flat tone and turns away from him. For the remainder of the ride, she doesn't say another word.

By the time they get back to the motel, he's sick of the silence and can barely keep his eyes open. All-nighters used to be so much easier to pull... He drags himself to his room, kicks his shoes of, and flops onto the bed. His eyelids are too heavy to keep open. A nap first, then he'll talk to Wind and clear things up. And if he's lucky, Mannimarco will be back from Cyrodiil before anyone finds a reason to talk to him. Except Yorou. Yorou already has reason to want to talk to Mannimarco... And do other... things. To him.

In his exhaustion, he lets both his imagination and his hands wander. Perhaps he shouldn't, but when has attraction ever worker in reasonable ways. So he lets his closed eyelids become the canvas for pale skin and paler hair, and shudders through want until it burns too hot and he comes over his hand. The rational part of him regrets it because now he has a mess on his hands, quite literally, but the rest of him is in a pleasant floaty state at the fluid border between wakefulness and dreams. His body feels heavy, and then he doesn't feel it at all.

He dreams of cold light that barely pierced the darkness, of dampness and dripping water, of hands squeezing his neck and knees crushing his chest, and laughter, laughter as he claws at the gun just out of reach... And he wakes up with a gasp. His lungs feel too tight. A cold weight has settled beneath them. Dried cum is still coating his hand, and he regrets not cleaning himself up before. But a shower sounds as good as anything right now, so that's what he does.

By the time he's scrubbed himself clean, the sun is setting outside. Wind either hasn't come to see him, or she decided to let him sleep. Still, he checks his phone just in case. No word from Wind, but there is a new message. 

_Found anything interesting today, agent?_

Mannimarco.

**_You know I can't tell you about the investigation,_** he types back.

He starts dressing. Before he's done, his phone beeps again.

_Wasn't necessarily asking about facts._

**_Oh. Nothing in particular, I suppose._ **

_Hm, too bad. Well, Cyrodiil is boring as well._ The reply comes almost right away. Not that it bothers him, but so far, Mannimarco hasn't been super chatty. Sure, he dropped by in the morning, but that was to call in the favour.

**_Where are you anyway?_ **

_Imperial City. Landed about an hour ago._ A moment later, _I don't care much for airplanes._

Yorou arches his eyebrows. He didn't think Mannimarco the sort to admit weakness of any kind. Though, strangely enough, it makes the Altmer appear more human, more...real. **_Don't like flying?_**

_I don't mind flying. It's the airports with all their protocols._

_I see._ Should he share something more personal as well? And speaking of personal, he still owes Wind an apology. _I have to go talk to my colleague,_ he types. _We had a bit of a fight._

_Ah. I'm sure you did something dreadful._

**_You have a really high opinion of me, don't you?_ **

_Higher than the White-Gold tower. Good luck._

_**Thank you**. _He hesitates a moment before he adds, **_You too._** With whatever Mannimarco's doing.

»»-----------» ò «----------- ««

Runs greets him with a slightly raised eyebrow and her phone in her hands. She's still impeccably dressed.

"Good morning," she says. "At least I assume you were asleep. Unless I'm wrong and you were ignoring my knocks."

"I was asleep. May I come in?"

She steps aside. Yorou closes the door after he enters. He lingers on the spot for a bit. Then he stuffs his hands in his pockets and gets over himself. "Sorry for being an asshole."

Wind sighs. "That's okay. Well, no, it’s not, but apology accepted. And don't be an idiot any longer. You’ll get hurt."

He looks somewhere in the direction of her left shoulder. "I know." He sighs. "Trust me, this isn't exactly my ideal scenario. But there are only so many people like Revus in the world."

Wind echoes his sigh. She grabs him by the arm and drags him to one of the chairs. "Sit. I talked to some of Rilis's workers, and I've things to tell you. Also, when this whole affair explodes in your face, I'll be there to say I told you so."

He nods, because what she's basically saying is that she'll be there. "What did you find?"

"I managed to get a hold of six of Rilis's employees so far. Most didn't remember Astra's clothing, but one did."

"Let me guess. The shirt didn't match?"

Wind shakes her head. "Oh, no, it did. The jeans did not. On tape, she wears black. That day, she wore blue."

"If we're lucky, somebody else will remember that as well. It's not much to go by, but at least we seem to be on the right track."

"Yeah...” Wind sings. “Would be nice to get a simple case every now and then. With damning evidence. Like clear fingerprints on the murder weapon. Or, or, footage on an unexpected camera."

"Sorondil works in IT, no? He could have tempered with the footage. If I can get Jakarn to find evidence..."

"No."

"Because it's Jakarn?"

"Because it's illegal."

"I should get him to become a consultant."

"Definitely not."

"But—"

"No."

"Fine." He pouts, and she nudges his shoulder.

"Come on, old man. Enough work for today. Let's go get a drink."


	4. We All Make Mistakes, Such Beautiful Mistakes

The next few days are predictably boring despite the rush of anticipation that comes from knowing they’re on the right path. They get lucky: two more people confirm Astra’s outfit. Sorondil’s background is promising, too—his father is listed as unknown. But he has a mother still, so they pay her a visit. Elanwe turns out to be kind, helpful, and distraught at the thought that Sorondil could have killed someone over inheritance.

“It might be more than money,” she says. Her words are hard to understand through the hands that she’s lifted to her mouth and has yet to lower. “There is an artefact… The Helm of Rilis. It’s been in the family for centuries, passed down from father to son. Sorondil has always resented that his father didn’t acknowledge him as a part of the Rilis family.”

“So he may have been going after the artefact rather than the whole inheritance?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. But I think he believes possessing the Helm would prove he’s a true Rilis… Oh, what has my boy got himself into…?”

»»-----------» ò «----------- ««

"Somehow, Rilis forgot to mention this artefact to us," Wind says when they're driving back to Firsthold. The sun's low on the horizon. Tomorrow, Mannimarco should return from Cyrodiil.

"Do you want to have another chat with him?"

"Not really, no. What I want to know is how killing Aliana would help Sorondil get to that helm. The only logical conclusion is that after Rilis dies, everything would go to Sorondil... Unless, of course, Rilis would leave it to someone else. If you know you’ll die childless, wouldn't you make a will?"

She's right, of course. Sorondil may not have considered this, though. Most people don't, when they kill for inheritance. That, or he did consider it and Aliana’s death wasn't meant to be the only one. Or...

"Maybe this was never meant to be a murder."

"Oh?" Wind raises her eyebrows. "You're thinking theft gone wrong?"

"Could be."

"But the Helm isn't missing, is it?"

"Rilis didn't mention it. It could be. Or it could've been left there because a missing family heirloom would lead us to him too easily. It's one thing to go down for theft, another to go down for murder."

"Seems like we need to talk to Rilis again. If the Helm is missing, and we find it at Astra's place..."

"That would build a pretty solid case, yeah." If only it could wait for tomorrow. The only thing he's still willing to do today is ponder whether he should text Mannimarco. There's been no word from him since the evening he landed in Imperial City. Now... Is he on the way back? Should Yorou even initiate a conversation?

Realising his internal monologue sounds like that of a besotted teenager, he pushes the thoughts aside.

"Next stop: Rilis estate," Wind says. She sounds about as enthusiastic as Yorou feels.

»»-----------» ò «----------- ««

The Helm turns out to be exactly where it's supposed to be —in a glass case inside Rilis’s study—because the universe hates them and this case is a Pain in the Ass. But they have some luck anyway. Local forensics dust the case and the artefact. Both have prints on them. They can’t tell if the prints are Sorindil's, since he has no criminal record, but if they could arrest him …

Perhaps it's tiredness that makes Yorou impulsive. Perhaps it's something else. When he gets back to the motel, he calls Jakarn and does exactly what he's not supposed to. Maybe Wind will kill him now, but it's good to hear that Jakarn will look into it. It's good to hear Jakarn, period. That same voice that used to whisper unspeakable things into his ear... But things have changed, haven't they?

He falls asleep as he is, dressed and sprawled on the bed. In his dreams, he hears Jakarn again, sweet and soft, and then his voice turns deeper and cold, so cold, and there is pressure on his ribs, strong enough to cut off the air supply and threaten to break them. His fingers claw at the ground until they bleed. The gun remains just out of reach.

He's helpless, helpless, and then he's shaking and wide awake, and he can't for the life of him understand why thoughts of Jakarn would make him return to that place.

He wraps the covers around him. His phone beeps; it goes ignored. With a sigh, he pulls his knees up to his chest. Feeling sorry for himself won't fix anything. He's alive. Every new day is another day he gets to live on his own terms.

Nevertheless, he allows himself time. A few more beeps come from his phone. Could be Wind. Or Mannimarco. There's a flutter in his gut, somewhere beneath the tightness that still lingers in his chest.

He scoots to the edge of the bed. His feet hit the floor and his fingers close around his phone just as there is a knock on the door, fast and soft.

The pattern is familiar, so he walks across the room, bare feet quiet on the carpet.

"Good morning," he starts saying as he opens the door, “Anything n—"

And then he stops because it may be Wind at his doorstep, but she's pale and dishevelled. A bruise is forming on her cheek. Most importantly, a gun is pressed against the underside of her chin. A tall man with a prominent jaw and a nasty scratch on his cheek is holding her hands behind her back.

"Hello. You won't mind if we come in, do you?" A familiar voice from behind them.

"Astra. Not at all. Please, make yourselves at home."

He forces his face into a smile and clasps his hands behind his back. His fingers move across the screen of his phone. The new-massage notifications should be all over his screen now, so he's practically guaranteed to open them. From there, he's going on blindly, hoping he's clicking letters, hoping he'll manage to press send.

There is the telltale sound of a message sent. A moment later, he finds himself staring at the barrel of a gun.

"Drop the phone," Astra snaps. "Now!"

Slowly, he squats and places it on the ground.

"Back away!"

He does. Astra picks it up and steals a few looks at the screen; she seems reluctant to take her eyes of Yorou.

"Any funny business and she dies," the man says and presses his gun into Wind’s jaw more firmly.

"You must be Sorondil,” Yorous says. “Pleasure meeting you, I'm sure."

"Enough. We're getting out of here."

"And where exactly are you taking us?" Wind asks.

"You'll find out soon enough," Astra says. She's typing something on Yorou's phone. "For now, we'll go to your car. You'll drive. You so much as breathe in the wrong direction, you'll find yourself with a bulled in your spine."

"Yes, yes, you're dangerous, I get it. You'll take us somewhere and kill us. So original. As if you believe nobody will ever know it was you."

Sorondil snorts. "Almost correct. You'll do something for us first."

"Sorondil, he's stalling."

"Like I don't know that," the man snaps back. Yorou uses the moment to catch Wind's gaze. They need a way out of here, and fast. What Astra and Sorondil are doing is extremely stupid in the long run, but by then it might be too late for Wind and for him. If it were just him, he'd probably take some stupid risks, but it’s not. Unless … If Wind gets an opening to disarm Sorondil, he should be able to get to Astra fast enough to escape with his life.

Wind gives the barest of nods. 

"You," Astra says, looking at him. "Through the door."

He moves slowly, and she waves her gun and tells him, "Now!" So he uses the chance. It might get him shot in the back, but as he steps past Wind and Sorondil quickly, hoping to use that split second before Sorondil will manage to turn Wind around too.

He strikes the man's arm.

The angles is off. He hits Sorondil’s arm with enough force to move the gun away from Wind's jaw, but not enough to knock it out of his hand. Fortunately, Wind lives up to her name: in a moment, she grabs the gun and twists it out of Sorondil's hold. He tries to grab it back, only to knock it onto the floor; it barely makes a sound on the carpet.

"Freeze!" Astra yells as Yorou dives for the gun. A shot rings out, but he feels no pain, and his fingers nearly close around the gun—

A blow to the back of his head knocks the breath out of his lungs and sends him to the floor. Astra kicks the gun away and steps on his hand.

It hurts like a bitch. That's also the least of his problems because Astra's gun is now pointed at his face.

"You really shouldn't have tried this," Astra says. Her cheeks are glowing red and sweat has gathered on her forehead. "Change of pla—shi—"

Her words get drowned out by both a shoot and a scream. She crumples to the ground, clutching her knee. The gun slips out of her grip. Before Yorou can move, Wind makes a dash for it, so he cradles his hand to his chest and turns. Mannimarco is standing at the door, pointing Sorondil’s gun at its owner.

Yorou struggles onto his feet. “Nice shot,” he says. It comes out less steady than he intended, but then he _is_ still trying to calm his breathing.

"Agent," Mannimarco says, "you might want to call the police," and Yorou suddenly wants to both punch and kiss him, not necessarily in that order. He lets his gaze linger on Mannimarco instead—on the pallor of his skin, on messy strands of hair around his face, on the cold glint in his eyes—and realises that whatever Mannimarco did in Cyrodiil, he did not have fun, and that his shot to Astra's knee had nothing to do with luck.

"Yeah,” he says and steps around the bed to get handcuffs and his own gun from the nightstand. Wind has climbed on top of Astra and is pinning her down, so he makes quick work of cuffing Sorondil. Then he calls for reinforcements and paramedics, because he really doesn't feel like getting those two to the station himself. All the while, Mannimarco keeps Sorondil at gunpoint.

"Why, for the love of the Eight, did you think this was a good idea?" Yorou asks. He looks at Astra, but it's Sorondil who answers.

"Somebody started rummaging through Rilis's security system."

Must have been Jakarn. "You mean somebody other than you."

"Yes."

"And you were monitoring it for that?"

"I had a software running." There is pride in Sorondil's voice, as if he's trying to stress he's just that good. Maybe he is. But Jakarn is better. After all, Jakarn has never been caught by law enforcement.

"Just what exactly were you going to do with us?" Wind asks, but all she gets is silence. Yorou doesn't mind; they'll find out sooner or later. He wants Astra and Sorondil gone, and when the police arrive a few minutes later, he can practically feel the weight fall off his shoulders.

"You okay?" he asks Wind.

"Yeah." She rubs the bruise on her cheek. "They damned themselves. If I wasn't too worn out from adrenaline right now, I'd have your hide. You called Jakarn, you idiot."

"And they were now arrested without a problem."

"Fuck you," she says. "I’ll wait for you in my room. We have work to do."

She leaves. Mannimarco hands Sorondil's gun to Yorou, who tossed it on the bed.

"Should I ask how many people you've shot in the knee before?"

"You could."

"All right. How many?"

"No one yet."

Yorou arches his eyebrows. "Does that imply you aimed for other places instead?"

"I've spent some time at a shooting range. Perhaps you should join me sometime. Or you could practice texting instead."

"Whatever I wrote, it was behind my back. The rest was all Astra." What did she write anyway? He reaches for his phone and moves to unlock the screen when Mannimarco catches his wrist. A moment later, he moves his fingers away, as if this was a mistake, as if the gesture should never have happened. Yorou looks up at him.

"Everything okay?"

"Of course."

"Uh-huh." His gaze lingers on the circles under Mannimarco's eyes, on the downturned curve of his mouth. "What kind of Oblivion did you go visit?"

One corner of Mannimarco's lips twitches up. "One with plenty of waiting." He shakes his head, and Yorou holds back the impulse to run his fingers through the other's hair.

"Go do your job, agent. The world isn't ending." He walks through the door and turns to close it.

This time, the impulse rises before Yorou can stop it. A stride, two, and he has his arms around Mannimarco. Then his brain catches up— _why has he done this, stupid stupid stupid_ —and he steps back. He sees Mannimarco's eyebrows arch high and his eyes widen just the slightest before he shuts the door like the coward he is. No sound comes from the outside.

Divines, that was dumb. Even for his standards.

When he leaves a few minutes later to meet up with Wind, Mannimarco's gone.

»»-----------» ò «----------- ««

_Back from Cyrodiil. I do so hope nobody was looking for me. I would really hate it if you got into trouble_...

_Although maybe I'd visit you in prison. Maybe._

_Agent?_

**_hekp kr g_ **

**_Sorry, my phone was unlocked. Everything is fine._ **

No immediate response. Then:

_Tell Astra screens are heat sensitive._

»»-----------» ò «----------- ««

This is how the story goes.

A child is born. By accident or through the lack of care or even because it was wanted, once upon a time. It doesn't matter. The child is born.

Raised by a mother who loves and works too much because she, too, has been cast aside and this time, she won't let go. Neither will the child, but he holds on to the idea of a father instead, to that distant figure he's never known. To assuage the yearning, his mother tells him stories of the family, of his father, of a special helm. So the boy waits and waits, dreaming of recognition that will surely come one day.

It doesn't. What comes is madness, and it takes his father and passes the helm on to the legitimate heir.

The boy grows into a man, bitter enough to know how things stand in this world: what he won't be given, he’ll have to take for himself.

It's the Helm they're after. All goes well at first. And then... And then the girl walks past. She sees and she runs, but she can't run fast enough. He has a knife with him because guns are too loud, and no sensible thief wants to make so much noise.

His legs are longer than hers. He catches her at the edge of the pool.

Now she's dead, and he panics. Taking the Helm would lead the police to him without a doubt. He has to leave. This was all for naught, but the footage has already been replaced. If he had the Helm, he and Astra would disappear. Now, this is not an option—he will need to come back for the Helm some other time. There will be an opportunity.

But life doesn’t work like that. Slowly, a noose tightens. Not the local police but state agents handle the case. Too soon, they start asking the wrong questions.

When somebody starts tinkering with Rilis's security system, he knows the game's over. They will find the changes he's made, and they will find him. So he and Astra try. They'd use the agents as leverage to get to Rilis and the Helm, then kill them all and make a run for it.

Despair is a powerful force, a faithful servant to stupidity.

»»-----------» ò «----------- ««

**_What kind of coffee do you drink?_ **

_All of them. Why?_

**_You may very well have saved our lives today. I’m treating you to coffee tomorrow._ **

After a few minutes, a reply finally comes.

_Fine. If you buy me decaf, I’ll let you die next time._


End file.
